


Born Under a Bad Sign

by bee_kind



Series: Born Under a Bad Sign [5]
Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (2014)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-10
Updated: 2015-02-04
Packaged: 2018-02-12 14:55:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2114178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bee_kind/pseuds/bee_kind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fratricide wasn't exactly their style, even if their teammate's sister was a child of Thanos. {Reading the prior fics isn't necessary to understand this one.}</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! Thanks for tuning in. So, this chapter is a bit short, but it was just a bit of exposition. The stories kicking off next chapter and will be mainly canon character-focused.

Kesna didn’t remember her home world, or her birth parents. For as long as she’d been alive all she’d known was the cold, dark silence of her father’s realm and the sight of stars shining on his massive throne. She had no concept of home or family, because her’s was the place where no living thing was welcome, and her siblings were constantly in competition with each other for their father’s favor. They scrambled over each other, willing to sentence one another to death just so that the giant man on the throne would cast his jade gaze on them for a moment.

She never competed. 

She had, in the beginning, believing that it was necessary, but once the favorites had become evident -Gamora and Nebula among the daughters. Astral among the sons- she’d stopped trying. After all, Thanos’s affections did not sway easily and if the others thought they could win him over simply by ruthlessness alone, then they were truly as foolish as they seemed. While she wasn’t happy being on the fringes of Thanos’s focus, rarely being blessed with his acknowledgement, she certainly wasn’t going to complain about it. She was the daughter of a practical god. No being in their star system dared disrespect her for fear of what her father -however distant- would do to them. She was safe because he wasn’t, and that was enough. She would never be the favorite, but she wasn’t despised either. No need to aspire to heights she could never reach.

But then Nebula and Gamora had betrayed them, and her father was left with two less weapons in his arsenal. He could replace them, yes, but the time it would take to find two new children and train them would set his goals back at least ten years. He needed them back, and he needed them now, and suddenly, Kesna was relevant. 

She wasn’t the strongest or the smartest or even the best looking of all of Thanos’s children, but she was fast. Faster than the Chitauri scouting vessels and certainly faster than any target she was set on. She was a glorified bounty hunter only used when her father needed to ally himself with a weaker being- though he never called it allying. Allying implied that both parties were equal and the stronger wasn’t using the weaker as a means to an end- and he rarely needed anything he couldn’t obtain by himself. He seemed to be using her with increasing frequency, however. She’d taken an assignment for him a few cycles ago tracking down someone called Loki and it hadn’t been long since she’d been sent out to find Ronan. Before that, there’d been few jobs she was fit for. She wasn’t a killer, she was a retriever, and what use was a daughter with clean hands to a father who worshipped death?

Apparently, her use had been realized.

Kesna strode down the narrow strip of rock that led to her father’s throne, servants on either side kneeling, their head bowed. Though they were blind creatures, they’d could sense her presence; the energy a child of Thanos gave off was palpable. Even with their sight, the effect wouldn’t have been lessened. She stood six feet tall with skin the color of dark sienna. dark circles lined smoldering golden eyes and a flaming crop of red hair grew from her scalp. A thick, leather whip was coiled at her waist and multiple belts were slung round her hips. She wore a bandana tied round her face, a jaw bone emblazoned on it and on her ears were golden clamps, scratched and worn from years of wear. Scars from training sessions and failed attempts at capture mottled her body.She looked every bit the agent of death. 

As she neared her father’s throne, the servants fell away leaving her in front of the self-proclaimed god of this star system. She knelt, eyes on the ground. “You called for me Father?” 

Thanos did not answer her at first, his back turned toward her. She couldn’t even hear the rumble of his breathing from her position on the ground. Kesna clenched her fist. Had she been too forward? Had she not bowed properly? Surely she hadn’t misinterpreted his calling for her as an invitation to come to court...All knew entering his throne room without permission was to beg for death. 

“Kesna.” Her father’s voice was a deep rumble, but it was not warm. His voice sounded like galaxies going dark, like planets collapsing. She relaxed. Had she dealt him a slight, he would’ve executed her without speaking her name. Her father only addressed his children directly when he meant them no ill will. She’d learned this young. The titan looked over his shoulder, emerald gaze settling on his daughter. “Do you know why I gifted you that name.” She didn’t raise her eyes, but she spoke.

“You named me after the goddess of the hunt from my home world.” 

“Yes.” He was not angry. Relief washed over her like cold water, taking the scorch of her father’s gaze with it. “You, of all my children, were not trained to kill. You are capable, this I know, but I did not wish it for you.” Kesna remembered the training sessions she’d undergone as a child. While her brothers and sisters played with swords and staffs, sparing against the servants, she’d been placed in front of a Chitauri soldier and made to dodge his attacks. More often than not, she couldn’t and she’d gained mementos of her failure, etched permanently into the hard lines of her body. She learned to move faster. 

She’d resented the soldier she trained against, spent hours pouring hatred into his cruel, warped face, twisted in glee as he landed another blow. She could not kill him though. She’d never been able to kill someone. Whether it was her father’s orders that had stopped her, or simple like of want, she’d never brought herself to tighten her whip’s coil around the monster’s throat. No, she couldn’t kill, but bringing harm was an entirely different matter. 

“I remember, Father.” 

“And do you know why?” That stopped her. Why had he not allowed her to train as a warrior? She’d always thought that he thought his servants to incompetent to be trusted with the task of bringing him his underlings, but was there a deeper reason?

“No, my lord.” 

“It is simple to shoot a bird out of the air.” He replied, turning to face her. “It is another matter entirely to bring it down unharmed and keep its song for yourself. Stand.” She did as she was told, rising quickly. Though she was tall, she was nothing in comparison to her father. Even sitting, he was massive, and his gaze seemed to burn the ground it landed on. “Two of my birds have sought better skies. Retrieve them.” She nodded and began striding back down the outcropping, already ordering servants to prep her vessel. 

“And Kesna-” She froze, the icy tendrils of her father’s voice wrapping around her once more. “If you fail me child, I will kill you.” 

“Yes, Father.”


	2. Mid-night Prophecies

_“If you fail me, child, I will kill you.”_  
  
 _“Yes, Father”_   
  
Gamora wakes with a start and sits bolt upright, nearly slamming her head on the bunk above her. Her heart beat is pounding in her ears and a cold sweat has turned her skin sticky with fear. The vision was short, thirty seconds at the most, and blurred, but she does not need vision to tell her that that weapon of a voice belongs to Thanos. The woman lets her head drop into her hands and she exhales slowly, breath shaky. It wasn’t real. She wasn’t back at the mad titan’s court. She was safe. Drax is breathing steadily on the next bunk over, arms crossed over his chest staunchly. Above her, rocket is snoring, his body wrapped around a slumbering Groot’s pot.   Quill is wrapped in a tangle of blankets above Drax, his mouth ajar. It had just been a dream.  
  
Or, maybe it wasn’t.

She tossed back her covers and slid out of her bunk as quietly as she could manage, tiptoeing to the door that led to the common area. A warm cup of Sonæ tea should help her calm down and process what she’d seen. She manages to slip out without waking the others- what kind of assassin would she be if she couldn’t escape a tree, two men and a… a Rocket without being noticed?  
  
Ganora let the lights up a bit, but only enough so that she could see, and began opening cupboards in the galley. It’d only been a week since they all formed this...coalition and she still had no idea how Quill stowed his things. There didn’t appear to be a system for anything. Eating utensils were shoved into drawers with spare bolts and rations were crammed into the back of a cooling unit beside devices that weren’t legal on any halfway decent Class Four planet. It had been a whole two days before Drax couldn’t take it anymore and he’d started forcibly cleaning up the ship. Their fearless leader had managed to buy time, but not before the muscle-bound man had managed to completely clear out the bunks.  
  
Gamora managed to locate a cup and a chipped saucer and set to work boiling some water. Tea was one of the few small pleasures Thanos had allowed her as a child. She didn’t know what it was about this brew in particular that comforted her. It was common fare, cheap and poorly made, but it had always calmed her. Maybe it smelled like home.   
  
She dropped the tea bag into the steaming pot and exhaled. Home. She’d thought it had been lost to her forever, but maybe not. Could she find it again among these men? It was certainly possible. The assassin- former assassin- sighed and flipped off the stove, pouring the boiling mixture into her cup. She was worried. The being who’d stolen her from her family had always managed to find her before when she’d run away, and he would certainly find her now. It was only a matter of time before one of his slave races appeared in the sky, armed to the teeth and ready to annihilate her new-found happiness, of that she was sure.  It wasn’t likely that he’d expel so much force so early. No, he’d send someone to come get her first, and then use his armies if they failed.   
  
“Kesna..” The name was murmured in sadness. The youngest of Thanos’s four daughters and the only non-warrior of all his children, her father’s scenthound. It was said that there wasn’t a being in the universe she couldn’t hunt and retrieve with enough time. Gamora believed it true. She’d seen her sister coil her whip around the throats of life forms twice her size and drag them back to their father without complaint. If Thanos was sending a herald, he would send Kesna and there was nowhere in the universe she could hide.   
  
“What is this ‘Kesna’?” 

Gamora flinched, splashing hot water on the back of her hand. She let out a hiss of pain and hastily set the pot down hastily. How a 6’4, 200+ pound man had managed to enter the room unheard was beyond her, especially considering she had excellent hearing. She’d pass it off as a result of fatigue. She couldn’t have gotten so rusty so quickly. Her eyes flicked up to Drax’s. He was looking at her with something akin to mild distress.  
  
“Are you burned?” She gave a single shake of her head. It stung, but she’d be fine. She’d suffered far worse. They were silent for a moment, Gamora wiping up the spilled tea and putting away the box of tea and Drax looking uncomfortable. They weren’t exactly comfortable around each other yet. Despite the things they’d been through together, the things they’d seen, She couldn’t seem to forget the way his hand had clamped around her throat, the way he’d lifted her off the floor like she weighed nothing. She’d been in that position far too many times to count, with a Chitauri warrior playing her assailant and her so-called father watching on in approval.

Gamora wrapped her hands around the steaming cup and inhaled slowly, letting the calming scent wash over her. Her eyes slid shut and she exhaled, her breath a whisper.  
  
“What are you doing up this late?” Drax gave a noncommittal shrug and hunched over the counter, arms crossed.  
  
“It is morning on my homeworld.” He stated, as if that was enough of an explanation. She nodded. Another drop in conversation followed and Gamora was just about the excuse herself to the flight deck, when Drax spoke once more. “You speak as one in mourning.” Her head snaps up at that, tawny brown eyes locked on his own grey ones.   
  
“What?”  
  
“This ‘Kesna’. You speak of it as if you were mourning it. What is it?”  Gamora sighs and her eyes slide shut again. She had nothing to hide from him. He knew what she’d done, what she’d been before the guardians. She had no cause to lie to him.  
  
“Kesna is...Kesna was my younger sister, and a child of Thanos.” Her teammate’s face darkened almost imperceptibly, but he gave no other sign that he’d heard his sworn enemy’s name. “She was the most gifted bounty hunter I’d ever met.”  
  
“Does she live?” Gamora hesitated, her fingers tightening around her cup. Drax took notice and he bowed his head. “I mean her no harm, this I swear.” She’d seen the rage in his eyes when he’d talked about the way his family had been taken from him. They’d been ripped away by Ronan and Thanos had orchestrated it. He’d slaughtered endlessly in his quest for revenge and would’ve killed her had Quill not stopped him. What reason did she have to trust that he wouldn’t do the same to her sister if she showed her face?   
  
_Because he’s your friend._  
  
How had she forgotten his vow already. He’d promised that they were friends and that they would die together or not at all. He’d saved her life at least thrice that day and had bought her enough time to get a head start on the door system for Quill. He’d proven himself more than enough to her. Gamora lowered her gaze.   
  
“Come.” She murmured, gesturing for him to follow her as she moved toward the curved couch in the common area.  
  
He did. Slowly at first, hesitating like one approaching a wild animal, but he did come. He sat opposite her, on the end of the couch and she suspected that he knew full well her hesitance around him.   
  
She settled back into the couch and crossed her legs, trying to get comfortable. She couldn’t quite meet Drax’s eyes just yet, but the least she could do was speak to him.   
  
“She lives as much as anyone can under Thanos’s thumb- under his rule…” She corrects the metaphor before her can ask. “When I was young, still a child, he took her from her planet and destroyed it. Kesna was but an infant, I doubt she remembers any of her homeworld. Unlike the rest of us, he trained her as a hunter, not an assassin. When our father needed someone found and brought back alive, he sent her. She never failed. She was too scared to.”  Gamora’s eyes were locked on her tea, the swirling leaves gathering on the bottom and forming patterns. Her mother had believed that if one looked long enough, one could see the future in tea leaves. Her’s hadn’t formed a pattern, though. They’d settled into chaos.  
  
“If Thanos wants me back, he’ll send her after us, and there is no avoiding her.” Gamora was terrified. Not for what Kesna would do to her, but for what her father would do to the girl if she failed. The Guardians might not have been able to outrun the bounty hunter, but she was certain they could take her in a fight. Despite her training, five on one weren’t exactly fair odds, especially when those five were a tree-king, a bomb specialist, a former assassin, a man who she’d seen personally snap someone in half over his knee and a Starlord.

Whatever a Starlord was  
  
“Even if we defeat her in battle, Thanos will only send more of his forces after us until he gets what he wants. There is no escaping it.”   
  
Drax was  surprisingly good listener. He hadn’t spoken at all during her explanation and didn’t appear to be judging her. His brow was furrowed as he met her eyes.   
  
“Do you care for her?” Did she? Gamora had always thought of her siblings as roadblocks, things to be overcome and clambered over in her search for freedom. She’d never thought of them as friends and certainly not as people. They were a bloodthirsty lot and she’d been more than willing to aide Ronan, if just to get away from them for a little while.   
  
But they were family.   
  
No matter how dark they got, or how far they strayed from the path of righteousness, Gamora still remembered the early days. When training got particularly hard, or they’d failed a particular objective in a session and Thanos would lock them up in their quarters, she’d curl up together with her brothers and sisters and they’d share tales of their homeworlds and songs from different skies. The children who’d sung those foreign lullabies weren’t dead, they’d just forgotten themselves along the way. She had too.   
  
“I...I don’t know.”   
  
“You may have to decide sooner rather than later.” Gamora took a shaky sip of her tea. She knew. She didn’t want this. She wanted to go back to sleep and wake up and have everything be alright again. 

“I don’t want you all to get hurt. I’ve brought this down upon us. It is my fault.”   
  
Drax reached out hesitantly and let his hand rest gently on her shoulder. Gamora tensed and for a few painfully slow seconds, Drax thought she was going to push him away. But then she relaxed into his touch and he exhaled lightly. “Do not blame yourself. We live as one and we fight as one. Your troubles are ours and ours are yours.” He murmured, his thumb skimming her cheek in way far gentler than Gamora thought possible. 

He shifted to the cushion beside her, one thick arm draped over her shoulder, clutching her as if she’d fall apart if he let go. She allowed the contact, relaxing into him slowly, hesitantly. The woman hadn’t been hugged in so long. How many years had it been? Twenty? Thanos wasn’t the hugging type of father, she and her siblings had had that lesson branded into them. She put her tea onto the smudge-covered glass table and let her arms encircle Drax. They barely managed to encircle him, and she still couldn’t bring her hands together.   
  
Gamora closed her eyes and breathed him in. He smelled like earth and the ground herbs sold in markets along the eastern rim of the galaxy. How he managed to get them all the way out here was beyond her. His heart beat was soft and slow, half her rate, she estimated. She could hear his lungs filling and deflating, her ear pressed against his chest. The sound was calming, almost as calming as the tea. Even still, the gears of her mind were still cranking, trying to find a way to save both her team and Kesna, and throw Thanos off of their trail forever.  
  
“We need a plan.” She stated, shattering the silence.

“In the morning.”  
  
“But there is-”  
  
“ **Morning**.” His voice had a certain gruffness that left no room for argument or interruption.  She complied with a huff, settling back into the warmth of him. Whether she’d admit it or not, Gamora was exhausted and the sound of Drax’s breathing was to rhythmic to fight. Soon she found herself drifting into the open arms of sleep and she embraced it wholeheartedly.   
  
But her dreams were not peaceful.   
  
She dreamt of a flame-haired woman covered in scars, a whip at her hip. She dreamt of the cruel, cold gaze of her father, a bloodthirsty smirk on his lips. She dreamt of the dead and the dying, and of Kesna’s whip curled around Nebula’s throat.  
  
 _“If you fail me, child, I will kill you.”_  
  
 _“Yes, Father”_

“Gamora!”  
  
The green woman sat up, chest heaving. Drax was hunched over her, holding her face between his hands, his own covered in scratches. Rocket was perched precariously on the chair behind him, his fur ruffed up. Peter had retreated to the far corner of the Common Room and even baby Groot had a look of concern etched on his tiny face. Her hair was plastered to the back of her neck and her eyes were wide.   
  
“What’s-?”  
  
“You were screamin’ like a banshee in your sleep. Drax was the only one who could get close to you without getting his face ripped off. Believe me, we all tried.” Rocket grumbled, smoothing down the fur on his head.   
  
Gamora looked down at her trembling hands. There was blood beneath her nails and she felt a brief pang of regret before fear overtook her.   
  
“She’s coming.”  
  
“Who?”  
  
“My sister.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y'all liked it! Remember: I'd rather have a comment than a Kudos any day. Though, I'll gladly take both ;D


	3. A Debtor and a Collector

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kesna hunts down one of her Father's debtors to aid her in her quest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that this chapter is rough,a nd small details in it will most likely be changed later.

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The planet reeked of Kree.   
  
Kesna rubbed at her nose as she tramped over dusty rocks and red clay paths worn down by the boots of soldiers. She could smell the blue creatures even from this far away. A large group of them hadn’t been through in months, but the scent of the outpost’s master remained.  
  
Thick.   
Cold.  
Like rage personified.   
  
She had nothing to fear with him now, not since this army had abandoned him and he’d been exiled to this desert of a planet. He lived in shame now, the life of an exile, an almost pathetic pariah. He’d been strong, yes, but he was a petulant child.  What his foes had lacked in power they made up for with the basic ability to plan ahead; hatred had clouded the Overlord’s mind and he’d paid dearly for it.  
  
Kesna sniffled and kicked at a pale rock, realizing too late that it was skull. Her lip curled and she stepped over the rest of the skeleton, straying back toward the center of the path. Disturbing bodies was bad luck. Her fingers brushed the pendants at her neck in reassurance, wrapping around the cold metal. They were from her homeworld, given to her as an infant to keep the demons and chaos gods of her people at bay. They’d failed, she knew, since she was the child of arguably the most chaotic being in existence, but still they gave her a sense of comfort.

She’d been sent to this outpost on Feilas 3 to begin her search. It was the head of a former group of radicals and an old temple to some foreign god, but the post had been abandoned in the weeks following their leader’s... demise. The only thing left to show that there’d ever been life on the desolate planet was a black dome jutting up from the clay like an all-seeing eye. It was completely smooth, it's surface gleaming in the dull light like obsidian. Years before the surface of it had rippled and writhed, shadows twisting in on themselves infinitely, but now it sat still, all life drained from it.

"Ashes to ashes..." She muttered.

The Necromanteion. The birthplace of all foul things. The Nine Terrors of Anador had been birthed from this place, shaped and molded by some unknown, arcane process. She'd visited once, with the Other when she was still small. He'd escorted her here to retrieve some Kree noble who'd blasphemed her father's name and tried to manipulate his mistress, Death. In truth, she'd known Thanos could have destroyed the foolish man from light years away, still atop his throne, but he’d sent his youngest daughter, nothing more than a child at the time to hunt him down.   
  
She still remembered setting out. She wasn’t tall enough to see over the dashboard of the solo craft she’d been assigned, much less pilot one on her own, and so the Other had been sent along. They’d merely surveyed her from a distance, however. They were to watch her process but not interfere. She’d landed where she was now, the dry, hot wind baking the ground and trying to blow her away. Felias 3 was nothing if not inhospitable. She’d had to stumble across this plain by herself and wait for an envoy to arrive so that she could sneak herself in. It had taken three days.  
  
Three days of no rations, three days with just the clothes on her back, the water in her canteen and her whip. She’d been about seven years old.   
  
Kesna blinked and narrowed her eyes, squinting at the black dome. She’d survived because she’d had to, and she’d survived on her own. To have returned without the noble would have meant death, as it still did. The woman straightened her shoulders and inhaled slowly, the heat immediately scorching her lungs. She had no time to reminisce. She was no longer that child, hiding from guards and ducking underneath beds to retrieve old men. She was a fully-fledged child of Thanos. She was strength incarnate, and she had mission.   
  
Even on the back of a Disc-Cycle running at top speed it took her nearly twelve hours to reach the Necromanteion and another hour on top of that to gain access. This place had not been built so much as grown out of the earth, and it wouldn't open for just anyone. It had to be coaxed, flattered and seduced into opening. She ran lithe finger over the black expanse and tried not to shudder. She had no idea what the death felt like, what sitting between life and the void sent rushing up one’s arms and across their skin, but if she could, she’d say it was like touching the Necromanteion. Kesna suppressed a shudder and pressed her full palm against the smooth stone. She bit back a scream and closed her eyes, pouring a pleading into her touch.  
  
Please.  
  
There was a sound like a thousand voices groaning at once, and the surface of the dome rippled slowly, a dark maw opening in the side of the structure. Stale air blew out, cold and dank. She clenched her jaw. She’d never liked this place, and since the fall of it’s master’s  forces, it was even scarier.   
  
No, not scarier. She was a daughter of Thanos; she did not feel fear. She mastered it, tamped it down and crafted it into a fighting force. The huntress’s hand rested on the tight coil of her whip. She was not afraid.  
  
She took a step toward the entrance, forcing herself to keep moving. If she thought too hard, she wouldn’t enter, and she had no doubt the Necromanteion would refuse to open again if spurned. Finally, she was fully within the embrace of the dome, and the opening shut behind her with a whisper. She exhaled slowly. Not afraid, not afraid, not afraid.  
  
She had to keep moving. The passages of this place could move on their own, and if she didn’t get going, she could end up sealed within a wall.   
  
The thought caused something icy to slip down the back of her throat, but she forced it away. She was on the hunt, now, and all of her faculties had to be focused on her quarry. She had no time for nerves. The daughter of Thanos closed her eyes and let the scents of the place roll over her tongue.  
  
The scent of the lord’s underlings was the strongest, musty and old as if they’d left things that shared their odor behind. Then, the smell of metal, so strong it nearly covered the man she was looking for. There was blood in this place- or there had been. Great quantities of it, flowing like a river through the walls. She clenched her jaw. The beings of this order had always thirsted for blood, but this was...this was obscene. Kesna swallowed as she was reminded once more why this place bore the name of Death.   
  
Had this place once belonged to her father’s mistress? It certainly felt as if it did. The ancient deity had only visited her father once, and the chill she’d left in the air had haunted Thanos’s domain for weeks afterward. The air in this place was only a small shade of it, but it still felt similar. Kesna suppressed a shudder and shook her head.  
  
She didn’t have time to think.  She opened her mouth again and inhaled. It had been three Xandarian years since she’d last been in the same space as the master of this place, but the  scent wasn’t one easily forgotten: metallic and thick, heavy and dark. He was here, and he’d passed by this way recently.

  
“Answer me!” Her voice called back at her infinitely from the depths of the Necromanteion. The only answer she received was a cold brush of air against the skin of her arms. She narrowed her eyes and tried to peer into the darkness. There was nothing; nothing to be seen, at least. The smells were stirring, faintly, far away, but moving closer. The huntress took the whip from her belt and let it unfurl, the thick cord of it hitting the stone floor with a dull thud.   
  
“It would be wise if-” Something solid slammed into her and she fell backward, head cracking against the frigid ground. Something was shifting above her and she managed to roll to the side before it slammed a boot into the area where her head had been. She tucked and landed in a crouch, whip cracking as she unfurled it. The darkness seemed to be receding slowly from the vast emptiness of the dome, pulling itself toward the figure. Kesna narrowed her eyes, squinting into the dim darkness.   
  
She caught a flurry of movement, the twist of dark fabric around blue skin, slate grey eyes hard as stone, white teeth bared in a snarl. Her whip  made a singular round over her head before she lashed out at her foe. It was a weak strike, thrown in the dark, but it at least landed. The man hissed and she growled in response, striking again. A brief crack, another yelp of pain, another twist.  He would not be taken down easily, and even as the light grew, seeming to come from everywhere at once, she could tell that his time in the Necromanteion had been kind to him. The hard lines of his body were sharp, the black fabric of his clothing clinging to him like a second skin. Gone was his traditional armor and war paint, gone were the thick black lines that told of his heritage and rank. Even without his weapon, he was formidable and much worse, he was angry. She’d trespassed on holy grounds.   
  
He advanced quickly, slamming her against one of the black walls of the dome, her head meeting metal with a sickening crunch. Kesna lifted her feet and rammed them into his stomach, pushing him backwards so she could lash at him with her whip. She caught him around the ankle and yanked as hard as she could, sending him toppling backward as he tried to over correct. She cracked her whip again and the thick leather cord tightened around his neck as he hit the ground. He tried to sit up, but she rammed a boot into his chest, forcing him to stay down.   
  
Kesna leaned over, one arm taut with the effort of keeping the whip tight, and the other draped over her knee.  
  
“Hello, Ronan.”   
  
The Kree looked angry enough to spit. Nothing had changed since their last meeting, then. “You really should stop hiding yourself. Gas is expensive, and neither I nor my father have time to chase you around the galaxy. You’ve wasted my time and in turn wasted Lord Thanos’s.”Her tone was placid, conversational. She saw no point in mocking and belittling her target when she’d already won. Though, she supposed, her quick success was due to her quarry going without training or any contact for an extended period of time. The huntress moved her foot and loosened the coil of her whip slightly. “I’d rather not collar you, but I will if I have to.” The former Inquisitor rose, a look of murder on his face.   
  
“I will rip your head from your body and let the carrion birds peck away at your flesh.” Kesna blinked up at him.  
  
“I’ve missed you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you wouldn't mind dropping a comment or clicking the kudos button if you enjoyed it, I'd appreciate it!


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